Chapter 8 - One More Day
"Why would she need one more day?" Claire asked.
I had no answer.
Detective Ramirez did.
"Because something was supposed to happen before you got home."
Claire's monitor beeped steadily beside us.
I thought about my mother in our house, sitting comfortably while my pregnant wife knelt at her feet.
That wasn't random cruelty anymore.
It was confidence.
She thought she had time.
I called Leah.
"Pull every calendar entry involving my mother, Susan Hale, St. Matthew's, and the family trust. Last two months."
"Already doing it," she said. "There's something else."
"What?"
"Your mother requested a copy of the company's key-person insurance policies yesterday. Including yours."
Claire heard her through the speaker.
Her face drained.
Ramirez took notes.
"Did she have authority to request those?"
"As board chair, yes."
"Does she receive money if you die?"
"Not personally. The company does."
"And who controls the company?"
I didn't answer.
We all knew.
A nurse came in and checked Claire's IV.
I lowered my voice. "This is insane."
Claire looked at me. "Is it?"
The question hurt more than an accusation.
I sat beside her.
"Tell me everything she did while I was gone. No protecting me. No minimizing it."
Claire stared at the ceiling for a moment.
Then she started.
My mother had shown up every morning by eight.
She inspected the refrigerator and threw away food she called "unsafe."
She canceled Claire's prenatal yoga because she said it caused contractions.
She took Claire's car keys twice.
She demanded Claire sleep downstairs "in case she fell."
And that morning, after Claire refused to sign a document she couldn't fully read, my mother told her she needed to "learn gratitude."
Then Evelyn sat down, put her foot in a basin, and told Claire to wash it.
"Why did you do it?" I asked softly.
Claire's jaw tightened.
"Because she had my phone."
I stared at her.
"She said she'd give it back when I stopped acting hysterical. I was trying to get to the front door when I had a contraction. She told me if I fell, she'd tell the hospital I was unstable and confused."
I couldn't speak.
Claire reached toward the small overnight bag a nurse had brought from home.
"There's something in the side pocket."
I opened it.
A black digital recorder.
"I started recording her three days ago," Claire said.
I pressed play.
My mother's voice filled the room.
"You can hate me later, Claire. By tomorrow night, none of this will matter."
Then Claire's recorded voice asked, "What happens tomorrow night?"
May you like
My mother answered with four words.
"The baby becomes ours."
